Dear You,
It's the 2nd day of the year and it's raining again in Oakland. Baby kitty talked you into playing hooky so we could walk in the rain to see the matinee. I made bacon breakfast and served it to you at your desk. Two hours later I wondered if I might use the pc for awhile, since I'm supposed to be looking for work and all. As usual, everything I suggest warrants a negative reaction from you. I wonder why you can't just be kind in your excahnges with me. My desire to leave is more and more as such. I've finally gotten control of my tears so I think I'm getting stronger. I guess it's really only a matter of time.
I thought about phoning old Skip to tell her I wanted to come home, but I didn't much think the timing was right. I missed her like hell though. I been keeping that handkerchief she gave me before I left real close, to help with holding down those tears I was telling you about. I missed the old boys too and wondered if they treated girls the way you treat me.
After that I would have just masturbated like usual, but since I aksed you to play hooky I didn't see having the house to myself as an option. Mostly I'm sick if feeling empty and not feeling real. I wondered if there would ever be anyone who would love me enough, and why, just why, if I'm willing is it so goddam hard to find?
My white skin quivers in the low light of the sun going down. I'd have to leave now to catch the matinee but I don't much feel like playing out what seemed like such a romantic scenario alone. I'm sure it would be just a bunch of morons down at the theater anyway, smoking cigarettes and talking like they just know everything about everything. I could go down and buy a bottle of Beam to take the edge off, or maybe just save a few bucks and go back to bed.
Holden, I'm not sure I can start over this time. I can't even hear myself think in this crowded state. I'm sick of all these goddam morons and I just miss you like hell.
xxxxx
Messy
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